


Don't Skirt Around It

by onetiredboy



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Ah... Back At It Again With The Fluff, Canon Typical Mention of Depression, Did I Mention Fluff, Other, Recovery, Skirt Shenanigans, Trauma Recovery, mental health recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23719078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetiredboy/pseuds/onetiredboy
Summary: Nureyev falls to his knees.It earns him a little laugh, and when he pushes his hands up Juno’s skirt, Juno says, “I like where this is going.”--EVERY DAY MY FIC TITLES GET WORSE
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 14
Kudos: 208





	Don't Skirt Around It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [longingineverynote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/longingineverynote/gifts).



> this fic was written for @amythyst_art on twitter because they sent me some art that was just TOO GOOD for me to resist!!!! pls check their art out....... or comment below abt this piece so they can see it !!
> 
> CWs: non-graphic implication of self-harm, canon-typical depression, mildly suggestive content to start!

Nureyev falls to his knees.

It earns him a little laugh, and when he pushes his hands up Juno’s skirt, Juno says, “I like where this is going.”

The fabric of his skirt is soft where it falls against Nureyev’s fingers. Nureyev runs his hands up Juno’s legs, trying to commit the planes of his skin, the feeling of its warmth and the soft scritch of leg hair, to memory.

Nureyev sits back on his heels so that he’s low enough to lean in and press his lips to Juno’s thigh, just above his knee. Juno’s hands both come down, one in his hair and the other on the side of his face. It’s not urgent – there’s no pull or tug. Juno simply connects them, holds Peter in place and comforts him as he works.

Peter kisses up one of Juno’s thighs, the thumb of his other hand stroking evenly over the other one. Juno’s legs spread a little bit, and Nureyev’s kisses wander higher.

Nureyev begins to hear Juno’s breath, slowly getting heavier with anticipation. He closes his eyes for a moment and surrounds himself in his senses. The feel of Juno’s skin underneath him, his rough fingers petting gently in Nureyev’s hair. The inherent smell of him, which stirs a feeling in Nureyev that he denied himself to believe in for twenty years – safety. The sound of his breathing, his breathless laugh when he starts to realise this is going nowhere fast.

The next place Nureyev kisses is a place he traces with his lips so often, he can picture it in his head without having to look. He looks anyway, opens his eyes between one kiss and the next, and brushes a thumb over the thin horizontal scars on Juno’s inner thigh.

Nureyev’s head spins all of a sudden. Without moving his thumb from tracing over the scars, he sits up on his knees, closes his eyes again and leans in to press kisses to Juno’s sternum between the cups of his bra. One of Juno’s hands stays in his hair, the other comes to rest on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Juno mumbles, which is what it takes for Nureyev to realise he’s trembling.

He tips his head back, a worshipper looking for a sign. The skin of his throat stretches, the most vulnerable place on him bared – an offering. He would consider this a worthy sacrifice. But no sacrifice is necessary – in a moment, Juno’s lips brush over his own.

“Juno,” Nureyev breathes against Juno’s mouth.

“You alright?” Juno murmurs again, and Nureyev laughs.

“You are my miracle, Juno Steel,” Nureyev says, and lets his forehead fall onto Juno’s shoulder. “I am so glad you made it.”

There have been low times for Peter Nureyev, as well. A time in a red-slick room where the words _let that be_ _the end of Peter Nureyev_ had been spoken aloud, before a boy with a world on his shoulders decided to not let his story reach its conclusion just yet. There have been times after that, as well – and it dawns on Nureyev that it’s not Juno he worships: it’s them. The two of them, and how close they came, so often, to losing the battle of survival.

Juno laughs. It comes out wrong, “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“I’m so glad we made it,” Nureyev continues, and it comes out watery. His chest shudders, and tears fall, “I’m proud of us.”

“Oh…” Juno says softly, and wraps his arms around Peter, “Nureyev, you damn fool,” he says, and kisses the side of his face. “I’m proud of us, too. Come here.”

Nureyev lets himself be pulled to his feet, his knees weak. Juno drags them back to the bed, and falls back onto it. They collide a little too much in the wrong places, but then they rearrange themselves until they’re comfortable, wrapped up in each other.

They try a few kisses, but it becomes clear Nureyev’s soft weeping doesn’t plan on drying up any time soon, and when a tear gathers in the scar tissue of Juno’s missing eye and leaks down his face, that’s it for both of them.

Juno pulls Nureyev down with a hand on the back of his head and kisses his forehead. His other arm wraps around Nureyev’s back. They stay locked.

“It’s been a long time,” Juno says slowly, after a moment of silence apart from the soft movement of Juno’s fingers through Peter’s hair, “Since I’ve been in a place where I felt… glad. To be alive. Or, hell, even just content with it.”

The muscles Nureyev is lying on tense up underneath him. The hand stops in Peter’s hair. Juno laughs more air than sound, “God. It’s stupid, I… I almost feel like saying that is just asking for something bad to happen, y’know?”

He takes a deep breath, and pushes through. “I’m not… alright. A lot. I still… struggle, with feeling like I don’t deserve what I have, or that everything good I have is going to be taken away from me. And I know there’s gonna be a lot more days to come where I can’t get out of bed.”

“But… I feel less like those bad days outweigh the worth of the good ones. I feel less like.. depression…,” he mumbles around the word, “Is a thing that makes my life not worth living anymore.” Juno breathes out, and then adds, “I try to think that would be enough to make Benzaiten proud.”

“I think anyone would be proud of you, Juno,” Nureyev says. “I am. Every day when I see you in the morning, it’s the first thing I think.”

Juno’s hands move. They brush over Nureyev’s skin, cup the sides of his face, and settle there. Juno’s thumbs brush over Nureyev’s cheekbones.

“I’m proud of you, too,” he says quietly. “And I know Buddy is, and so is Rita, and Jet and Vespa, in their own way. It’s not… easy. To unlearn the mechanisms you built to help you deal with trauma. Especially when it’s all you’ve known, and giving it up feels like taking away everything that’s ever kept you safe. When your only way to make it through is to keep holding on to the belief that somehow, life on the other side will be better, despite everything in you telling you it won’t. It’s the scariest thing you can do.”

Nureyev turns his face into Juno’s palm and kisses his hand. His body shakes like a baby bird, hollow-boned and fragile.

“Nureyev,” Juno sighs, “I’m glad you decided to take that chance. I saw how hard it was for you. But being allowed to know you… that’s the greatest gift anyone’s ever given to me. And I want you to know I see that for what it is, every day of my life.”

Nureyev sniffles, an ugly sound. He knows his smile shakes at the corners when he moves his head to meet Juno’s eyes. “Best decision I ever made,” he says.

Juno smiles crookedly up at him, “Wanna try that kiss again?” he asks.

“I can’t promise you it won’t be a little wetter than usual,” Nureyev warns.

“I think I can handle it,” Juno promises fondly, and leans up to kiss him.


End file.
